


On the Importance of Roots

by Intrepid_Inkweaver



Series: Tales from Raven's Bones [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), Raven's Bones Guild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23408377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Intrepid_Inkweaver/pseuds/Intrepid_Inkweaver
Summary: How exactly was it that Zelkirae Morai ended up joining the Raven's Bones Guild?
Series: Tales from Raven's Bones [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799893
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	On the Importance of Roots

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being far longer than I'd initially intended, but I am moderately happy with it, so that's okay.

Zel had been expecting the desert to be hot. She’d been expecting the sun that beat down relentlessly on the top of her head, and the air so dry it sucked the moisture out of her skin and eyes, and the flying grit that perpetually made it’s way into her mouth and eyes and clothes and food. She had prepared accordingly, buying clothes to replace her usual leather and wool. Somehow, however, none of her expectations had truly prepared her for any of this. Her new clothes had started sticking to her in the most unpleasant of ways as soon as this journey had begun, and at this point, she despaired of ever getting them off without skinning herself. In spite of her dark skin and making every diligent effort to keep covered, she had still managed to get a nice hot brand of sunburn, and even spitting constantly didn’t get rid of the grit grinding constantly between her teeth.

As another drop of sweat threatened to fall into her eye, she stopped to wipe her forehead and mutter to herself, “This had better be gods-damned worth it.” Honestly, who decided to build a town in the middle of the thrice-cursed desert? And who, in the name of all that was good and holy, decided to _live_ in it?

Well, this famous demonologist, apparently. Bearla Xiid.

This was far from the first time that Zel had sought the opinion of a so-called expert. It had been difficult to find even the most basic of information about the statue that she had taken away with her from Talepha. Because of the time period it had been created in and difficulty in establishing even what culture might have created it, data was scarce to non-existent. No one was even sure what plane it had originated in. The last expert that had seen it had shrugged and told her that the runes were likely a rare dialect of Abyssal that few could translate. (The entity in the statue had let out a smug little laugh in Zel’s head at that. But then, it did that a lot.)

It had been nearly two decades (or maybe even more? She hadn’t been keeping track.) since she’d escaped her life in Talepha. She’d met her druid clan while searching for answers about the Cat. She’d taken well to their training--her connection to nature strong after so many years with only the plants and small creatures in her family estate’s gardens for companionship. It hadn’t been the training that was difficult. She didn’t know how to deal with so many people at a time, let alone so many people that cared for her. She didn’t know how to make and keep friends, and she had to fight the urge to run, run, run every time someone, no matter how gently, told her to do something. As soon as she’d completed her training after eleven years, she had decided that traveling alone would be easier and left her clan behind.

It wasn’t easier, really. She hadn’t known how much she had come to appreciate having people around her that loved her. She was lonely. But she had had other reasons for leaving--good ones. Her constant search for answers pulled her all over the continent, always moving from place to place. The few people she came to call friends she quickly ended up leaving behind. She lived for so long with the sibilant voice of the entity as her only companion that at one low point, she’d even briefly considered releasing it. Sense had regained it’s grip on her quickly though, with the firm statement, _I will never again live under the thumb of one who would use me._

It had been during her druid training that Zel had discovered how to make contact with the entity imprisoned in the statue. It had taken years, but she had figured it out almost entirely on her own; and even with the amount of time that it had taken, she felt that it had been suspiciously easy. The entity hadn’t wasted any time in offering her all the knowledge of creation if only she would set it free. It was true that it had offered many tantalizing tidbits in the time since then, but it was stubbornly close-lipped on the one subject she was most interested in: itself. But Zel knew the information she was seeking had to exist somewhere out there--she just wasn’t searching in the right places. Hence her current desert trek.

* * * *

It took several days of difficult and uncomfortable travel, but she did eventually reach Gravestown. It was quite a fascinating little town with it’s desert-adapted buildings, a complex built from the bleached bones of some massive creature she didn’t recognize, and in the center of town, a massive mound fronted by a citadel. For the moment, though, she was not here to site-see. A passer-by on the road happened to know where the famous Bearla Xiid lived, but he warned her, “She don’t much care for out-of-towners always coming to bother her, so she might refuse to talk to you.” Zel hastily assured him she was not here to bother her and went on her way.

Bearla lived on the southern edge of town, and as she walked, Zel passed a large, mostly empty plot of land that looked like it might once have been an attempt at a garden. There was little left to mark it but the remains of a fence and a lot of cacti and weeds. She stopped for a few minutes to pull some of the stiff desert grass that was strangling a tiny, but stubbornly persevering, blueberry bush. She gave the bush a small boost with druidcraft before continuing on.

The demonologist lived in a small, but well-kept house that Zel found easily. She knocked three times on the door and then stood back and put her hands behind her back. A gnome with curly silver hair and a face charmingly wrinkled by laugh lines opened the door and adjusted her monocle. “Well?” she said, putting a hand on her hip. “What are you after here?”

Zel bowed in greeting and answered, “My name is Zelkirae Morai of Talepha. I am seeking the demonologist, Madame Bearla Xiid. Are you she?”

She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Yes, I am, but if you’re here to try to recruit me for another dangerous delve into demon-filled ruins, then I’m sorry, but you’ve come all the way out here for nothing. I’m retired, and I have been for a long time. I don’t know how you people keep finding me.”

Zel quickly shook her head. “Ah, no madame, I am not looking to recruit you. I had a different favor to ask of you, and I’m willing to pay. I have an artifact I was hoping that you could look at for me.”

Bearla cocked her head to the side and studied Zel shrewdly for a moment. Zel straightened her back and held her gaze under the scrutiny. Then the gnome nodded and said, “Alright. Come on in. You look like you could use something cold to drink.”

Zel followed her politely into the house (which thankfully had been built to accommodate more than just the small races). She spotted an impressive looking greatsword on the wall that looked like it would be far too heavy for the tiny woman to lift, let alone wield. But it’s hilt was well-worn and when Bearla saw her looking at it, she said, “Old Bearclaw. She served me well for many years. Now she’s just as retired as I am.”

In the small but neat kitchen, Zel sat down on a chair at a table that forced her to put her legs underneath herself to avoid knocking her knees. Bearla handed her a cold glass of cider and settled in across from her. “Now,” she said, “what’s this artifact you’ve got that’s brought all the way from Talepha to see a retired old anthropologist? I would swear that Talepha must be halfway on the other side of the world.”

“I haven’t lived in Talepha in many years, madame,” Zel said slightly uncomfortably as she pulled the carefully wrapped statue from her backpack. “This statue has been passed down my family line for generations, however when it passed to me, I could find nothing at all to tell me what it was. I set out to find answers, but had little in the way of good luck. The only things I know for certain is that it was created in the Night Age by some very skilled artificers. I know not who created it, nor where, only that there is some powerful and probably dangerous magic locked within it. I was recently told that the runes around the base are likely a rare dialect of Abyssal, and that you would be able to read it.” She did not mention the entity inside, nor that she could speak to it. That tended to unnerve good people, and drive other try things she would rather they didn’t.

Bearla winced when Zel handed her the statue. Most people did. She wasn’t sure why, it looked like a perfectly ordinary statue of cat, but she’d always been too polite to ask. The gnome examined the statue itself for several seconds before taking a look at the runes around the base. She adjusted her monocle studiously, studying intently. After a minute, she let out a soft huff and reached into a kitchen drawer to pull out a magnifying glass that Zel could clearly see was enchanted. She used it to study the runes for several minutes more, but eventually sighed and placed both the magnifying glass and the statue back onto the table. She folded her hands and looked up at Zel pensively. “This magnifying glass,” she said, tapping the instrument in question, “is enchanted to interpret, or at least identify, any dialect of Abyssal it comes into contact with. That,” she pointed at the runes, “is not any form of Abyssal.”

Zel closed her eyes and held her breath. When she let it out, her stiff shoulders crumpled forward without her permission and put her face in her hands. _“Damn it,”_ she whispered, swallowing back tears of frustration. When was she ever going to catch a break? It had been _decades_ and she had traveled so _far._ She wanted to stop. Let it go. But something kept driving her onward. Is this what her whole life was going to be? Chasing rumor after rumor the world over, with nothing in the end to show for it, and no one to keep her company but the smug voice of the Cat whispering in her ear?

Bearla reached over to put a small, calloused hand on her arm. “If I may ask, why is this so important to you?”

Zel raked a hand through her hair irritably. “I don’t _know,_ ” she answered. “I want to be able to just _let it go,_ but I _can’t._ It wasn’t even that important. I really took it to spite my parents. I was curious later, but that was original reason. They’re gone and I should be able to let it go, but I can’t.” She hadn’t spoken of this in so long with anyone--perhaps she’d never spoken of it. Embarrassment burned in her chest for letting all of it out in front of a stranger.

“Hmm,” Bearla hummed deep in her throat. “Well, I don’t know your past, Zelkirae Morai, but I do know something of obsession that drives you to things that aren’t what you truly want. And I will say that at some point, you just have to stop. Dig your roots in, and don’t let it take you any further. If you don’t, it’ll eventually get you or someone you love killed.”

“I don’t know if I have any roots,” whispered Zel, and then let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Strange thing for a Druid, is it not?”

Bearla smiled sadly. “Well, as a Druid I’m certain you can find a way to grow some.” She picked up the statue and looked at the runes again and then said, “You know, I think this might actually be some ancient form of Sylvan. Some of the oldest dialects look very similar to Abyssal because they have related roots.”

Zel looked up in sharp interest. “Sylvan? You mean as in _Fey_?” The fey where she came were considered little more than bedtime stories--most considered them to be long dead, or at least gone. Some would even argue they had never existed at all. She had heard little about them in all her years since leaving Talepha. She spoke some Sylvan, though, as it was a common language used in druidic spellcasting.

Bearla nodded, and Zel took a considering sip of her cider. She’d never considered _fey_ before.

“You know,” Bearla said slowly, “the Raven’s Bones guild has a very diverse group of people working for them. They might even have someone there that knows something about the fey. And they’re always accepting new people, or so I heard. I think you might be a good fit there.”

Joining a guild? Zel almost dismissed it out of hand. She couldn’t join a guild. Could she? Most guilds she knew of had loose enough membership that people could come and go as they pleased. They weren’t forced to be there. She could leave if she wanted. She shook her head. This was all very sudden.

_But it isn’t really, is it?_ Something in the back of her mind whispered. _You’ve been lonely and unhappy for years, you just never wanted to admit it because you were scared. Maybe now is the time. Maybe this is the answer._

“Where is this guild?”

“You likely saw it when you were in town. That big burial mound with the citadel out front? That’s Raven’s Bones. The guildmaster’s name is Lethira Sal’litel. I hear she’s an…interesting sort.”

Zel nodded and slowly answered, “I’ll, uh, look into it.”

Bearla smiled. “Good. I’m glad. Now, make sure you finish your cider before you leave.”

“Oh, um, how much do I owe you for looking at the statue?”

The gnome waved her arm irritably. “You don’t owe me anything.” She reached out and took Zel’s much larger hands between her own. “Just you promise me--you try to let this go, or at least try to grow some roots, before something happens and you get hurt. Promise me that.” Her voice shook when she said it, and Zel had a feeling there was a very sad story there.

Quietly, she answered, “I promise. I will.”

After she had finished her cider, as she was going out the door, a thought struck her. “Madame Xiid, do you know of a plot of land near here that looks like it was a garden once? Does anyone own it?”

“Not that I know of. Actually, it might actually belong to Raven’s Bones. A lot of stuff around here does.” She was smiling knowingly.

Zel bowed. “Thank you for your time, advice and hospitality, Madame Xiid.”

The gnome huffed a laugh, her eyes crinkling. “You can all me Bearla. And it was no trouble at all. If you do decide to stick around, I hope that you come and visit. I imagine you’ll garner some interesting stories working with that crew.”

* * * *

The doors to the Raven’s Bones Citadel were large and imposing, and Zel straightened her back and took a deep breath as she entered. Inside, the corridor was dimly lit, and there was a strange statue in the shape of a very large and intimidating looking man just inside the door that seemed to be being used as a cloak rack. It was quiet--all the way up until it wasn’t.

She came upon what appeared to be a common hall filled with chattering voices--not all of which Zel could understand. People seemed to be coming and going ceaselessly--and Bearla hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said they were a diverse group. A half-giant woman smiled warmly at Zel when she spotted her across the room, a tiefling woman was humming absentmindedly nearby, strumming on a lute, a lizardfolk wandered past with his nose in a book, and a scarred human woman was laughing at something that had been said by a strikingly handsome Aasimar. A high elf with purple hair followed by a young silver dragonling walked past, both greeting her personably.

Just then, Zel bumped straight into someone’s chest and nearly fell over backwards. Two scaly hands grabbed her arms and steadied her. She found herself looking up at a young copper dragonborn with a symbol of Sylvanus pinning his cloak. “I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going!” he said, flustered.

“The blame was all mine, sir,” she answered, putting a hand to her chest, indicating a sincere apology.

He smiled shyly. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me ‘sir’ before,” he said with a little laugh. He didn’t look like Sohl, but his smile reminded her of him all the same, and a sad sort of nostalgia gripped her chest. She found herself attempting to smile back, although she feared it came out slightly stiff. “You’re new here right?” he asked, “I’ve never seen you around before.”

“No--er, yes, I am new here, but I’m not a member. I had heard there was a wide array of knowledgeable people here and had hoped to get some help with something.” She hesitated. “I might also be looking for work, if there’s any call for a druid here. Would you be able to point me in the direction of Guildmaster Sal’litel?”

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll lead you to her office!” he answered.

Zel was glad of the guide through the twisting corridors, and when they arrived at the carved doors, the dragonborn said, “The guildmaster is just through there. I hope you get the help you’re looking for.”

As he was about to turn away, it occurred to Zel that she, rudely, had neither asked for his name nor offered her own. “I apologize,” she said, “but I neglected to ask you for your name.”

He smiled. “I’m Arden Brasco.”

She returned his smile and gave him an informal bow. “My name is Zelkirae Morai of Talepha. It has been very nice to meet you.”

“It’s been very nice to meet you too! I hope I see you around the guild!”

Zel knocked three times on the door in front of her and heard a muffled “Come!” from the inside.

As she pushed the door open, she found a spacious, well-lit office and a stern-looking elven woman with an expression as inscrutable as a cliff face carefully and precisely trimming a planter full of what appeared to be common grass.

“Are…you Guildmaster Sal’litel?” Zel asked.

“I am.”

Zel bowed politely and said, “I am Zelkirae Morai of Talepha. I was referred here by the demonologist, Madame Bearla Xiid. I have an artifact she thought someone here might be able to give me more information on. She thinks it might have something to do with the fey. I…was also hoping to find work, if you have any available. I am talented in druidic magic, am a capable healer and fighter, and have a very wide knowledge of wilderness survival.”

Sal’litel studied her thoughtfully for a moment with her head cocked to the side before asking, “May I see the artifact?”

“Of course.” Zel fished it out of her bag and handed it over. Unlike most people, Sal’litel’s expression barely shifted upon seeing the statue. She examined it intently for a few minutes before handing it back.

“I can see why you would be seeking information about it. It is quite a powerful object. We do have people in the guild who might have the knowledge you need. Otherwise, we have many contacts outside the guild that I am sure would also be willing to help.” She folded her hands in front of her on the desk. “As for work, I have a group that is making for Gawic in the morning that could use another person.” She shuffled through some papers and came up with one. “Yes, Titania, Valor Bloodsun and the wyrmling, Wroamin, are going to speak to an arcane tattooist about gathering ingredients for ink.” She pinned Zel with a sharp gaze. “You would need to officially join the guild in order to receive proper payment, however.”

_If I don’t like it here, I can always leave._ “I am willing to join,” Zel answered.

Sal’litel pulled out forms for her to sign, and gave her some more information on the guild’s rules, and on the job that she would be doing. As Zel was leaving the office with a stack of papers and a key to a temporary room to stay in, she paused with her hand on the door.

“There’s a plot of land that looks like it once may have been a garden near the edge of town. I was told it might belong to the guild. Does it?”

“I think I know the one you’re speaking of and yes, I believe it does.”

“Would anyone object if I began planting there?”

The guildmaster cocked her head to the side with a glint in her eye. “No, I don’t believe they would.”

Zel smiled. “Thank you, ma’am. That was all I needed to know.”

Maybe she was actually capable of putting down roots, she thought as she went to go and introduce herself to her new teammates.

**Author's Note:**

> Bearla went from just being this vague expert that referred Zel to the guild to being a full-fledged character all in one go.  
> Also:  
> Zel: I am terrible at friendship and have no idea how to deal with people caring about me.  
> Bearla: You are now my daughter.  
> Arden: I sense a fellow awkward nature nerd. You are now my friend. No, you do not have a choice in the matter.


End file.
